


serial killers are cute but you’re cuter

by switmikan74



Series: BokuAka Week 2020 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi is sarcastic for lack of sleep, Attempt at Humor, BokuAka Week 2020, Crushes, Fluff and Humor, Forgetful Bokuto, Landlord Yaku, M/M, Medical Examiner Akaashi, Neighbor au, Nurse Bokuto, i guess, there are no actual serial killers haha, ungodly hour shifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25650706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/switmikan74/pseuds/switmikan74
Summary: Okay. Before you judge him, there’s a solid explanation on why he found himself in Akaashi’s closet at two in the morning.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: BokuAka Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859227
Comments: 12
Kudos: 96
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	serial killers are cute but you’re cuter

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe, I’ll contribute at least five fics for BokuAka Week, haha.

* * *

Okay. Before you judge him, there’s a solid explanation on why he found himself in Akaashi’s closet at two in the morning.

It’s not a dare, contrary to the conclusion many people would deduct once they find out about this blunder. Honestly, he understands if they do. Who would even clamber in at someone else’s room and hide in their closet?

 _Serial killers_. Bokuto thinks to himself, biting his lips and twisting his body in the little space to check if there’s another person occupying Akaashi’s closet and sighs in relief when he found none.

He’s not a serial killer. He does not have the complex mind, finesse, and traumatic childhood to become one. He’s a perfectly healthy adult. He would not normally try to invade someone’s house (unless it’s Kuroo’s and not his new hot neighbor’s).

There is, he believes, a logical explanation for all of this.

You see, _haha_ , funny story really, he locks himself out of his own apartment. Again. And, because it’s the fourth time this month, he opted not to bother his landlord. Yaku is particularly nasty to talk with in times like this.

(“For fuck’s sake, Bokuto!” Yaku screams that third time while jamming the extra key to Bokuto’s poor door at three in the morning. And Bokuto knows it’s really his fault for being absentminded but _what the fuck_. Isn’t it the landlord’s duty to, like, serve his tenant or something?)

In hindsight, Bokuto should have counted the window from the _right_ instead of the left so when he falls short, it’s very plausible that he ends up in a darkened neat room after climbing with the help of the bricks (which Yaku probably should look into because if he can climb because of them, _anyone_ can climb to _anyone’s room_ like, oh, _serial killers_ ).

It takes him all of thirty seconds before he realizes it. It only should take five seconds but he’s groggy from his shift at the hospital so his mind is just taking things in stride, with no hurry at all. The first tip was the neatness of the bed. Never in his entire life that he had left his bed made. The second was the picture on the desk next to the bed. He swore, even with the depth of his crush on Akaashi, he did not collect Akaashi’s photo, especially Akaashi’s _family picture_. The third was the patter of feet outside the room that’s getting closer.

It took a split second before a horrifying realization takes fruition in his exhausted brain that sparks its function to full drive. It took him another second before he dives in the closet and _hope_ to any god that Akaashi does not open it because, _haha_ , he’s so not ready to be sent to prison just yet.

The patter of feet stops in front of him but soon went away. And for a moment, he could breathe. He hears rustling of a bag being set down. He wonders how heavy Akaashi's bag is to have that thudding sound of relief once put down. There hasn't been a lot of opportunities to have a proper conversation with his neighbor but they sort of develop a kind of friendship that only people with ungodly shifts could create. But Bokuto never really imagines himself doing a murder-suspect-esque dumb move (he really should stop watching serial killers documentary with Kuroo). He had done a lot of stupid things but never _this_ stupid. Okay, maybe around _this_ stupidity level. Okay, maybe he had done a lot of stupid things but _damn, Bokuto_.

"I can finally sleep." He hears Akaashi says and, because he is Bokuto who had suffered from the constant deprivation of sleep, he unthinkingly agrees. Loudly at that. Bokuto blinks at hearing his own voice before gasping, "Oh no."

 _Please, any gods, help me,_ he prays, and it took all of one second to make him lose his breath because jinx, there are no gods, apparently.

So he resulted with instinctual defense that only dug his grave deeper.

“I’m not a serial killer, I swear!”

.

.

.

.

Akaashi’s mother has always warned him about weird men. Even before he came out of the closet, his mother has been trying to protect him from the dangers of pedophiles or kidnappers or perverts because she’s an ~~overbearing~~ overprotective mother who is sometimes delusional on how pretty her youngest child could be.

So, he knows a man is weird a mile away.

Bokuto, perhaps, is the weirdest person he has come to know. And he knows Oikawa so that’s probably a different spectrum of peculiar.

The first time he had met Bokuto, the man has been sleeping outside his door, sprawled on the floor for the world to walk over, his loud snores breaking the quiet of the early morning. When he called Yaku about it, Yaku only sighed and rushed to their floor, kicked the man awake and started screaming at the poor man, before turning to him with an apologetic smile and a brief explanation of: _this here is Bokuto Koutarou. You won’t see him much because his shift at the hospital is ungodly and sorry about this._

He does not know if Yaku was reassuring him or something close to that—because Yaku has gripped his arm, a pained look on his face as he added: _really, please, you’ll not see much of him_.

And he did not. For the first three months. But then he started working overtime, enough times that their schedules practically overlap. Greeting Bokuto before entering his own apartment at the devil’s hour is already routine. It would be if you’re doing it for seven months and, you know, maybe he should quit his job because, while being a medical examiner has been a stable income to support his other career as a budding mystery thrill novelist, it’s really not worth it sometimes trying to identify the cause of death of the deceased for hours on end.

Daichi has been demanding his time more than ever because he is apparently ‘so good with details that they solve crimes faster than they ever did before’. But, can he just take a breather before another dead person that definitely did not commit suicide (what a sloppy cover up) was shove to him?

He’s being worked to the bones by the police. So much that he has to open his schedule for any sudden call. So much that Bokuto and him have to create a habit with one another to find a semblance of normalcy.

So, sue him if he thought he’ll find _normalcy_ with Bokuto.

He forgets sometimes. While Bokuto is normally cheery and tries to be as behaved as he can, he has surpassed Oikawa’s outlandish overall personality. Five evidences throughout the time he has known him point to this triumph, if you could call it that.

But, _this_ , this definitely takes the cake.

“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi starts, adjusting his glasses and retracting his hands from the handle of his small closet. He rolls his shoulders to calm himself and says, “I don’t think you can pass as a serial killer. They’re very thorough with planning and hiding. Although,”

Akaashi sweeps his eyes on the cowering form of his neighbor, “I do hope that you are not the infamous Strangler. Because I don’t want to be all over the headlines just after getting a few days off from work.”

“No, please, believe me.” Bokuto whimpers, “There’s a good explanation for this.”

“Please do tell.”

“You know how I forget to bring my key sometimes and how Yakkun threatened me to kick me out if I do again?”

Akaashi’s mind whirs the possible scenarios from Bokuto’s implication before landing on the correct one. He nods his head, “So you try to climb through the window but miscalculated and ended up in my apartment instead?”

“Yes!” The relief in his voice is palpable and Akaashi almost smiled. Almost. Instead, he taps his foot on the ground impatiently, “But why did you try to hide in my closet?”

“I don’t want you to be weirded out by my intrusion.”

“So, you chose to hide in my closet instead of explaining it bluntly to me that you locked yourself out again. And then plan when I’m already asleep, defenseless from anything, to climb out the window like a phantom burglar?”

“Well, if you put it that way then that’s even weirder.” Bokuto laughs awkwardly. Akaashi rolls his eyes, “Please, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto scrambles to his feet to beg for forgiveness. But then an idea strikes him and decides to beg for something else.

“Please let me sleep here for the night! Or day, you know what time it is and all. Please, Akaashi. I swear I won’t kill you in your sleep. I’m not a serial killer. I’m a good man.” He crosses his finger over his chest as a sign of sincerity. Akaashi blinks at him before sardonically saying, “I feel much safer now that you assure me so much of you not attempting to murder me in my sleep.”

“That’s good!” The sarcasm went over Bokuto’s head, “I’m aiming for that, after all.”

Akaashi did not sign up for this. He swivels to his bed and sinks in its soft sheet, “Fine.”

He closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. His exhaustion lulling him to sleep. The shuffling of feet a background to his way to slumber. He is so close to falling in a dreamless state when he feels the dip beside him and he feels a warmth pressed to his side.

He could probably ignore it. It’s best for his health that way. And he really should sleep now after staying up awake for three days (Daichi should really stop calling him for the most complex crimes they’re handling). But his mind has other plans. He opens one groggy eye and sees Bokuto’s face mere centimeters from his own.

He scrambles up, “Not here! On the couch.”

Bokuto blinks before rolling to the ground, “Oh! Oh yeah. _Haha_. Yes, right, on the couch. That’s more normal.”

Yes, Bokuto is the weirdest person he has ever met.

“Sorry about that!” Bokuto yells from the living room after stumbling out of the room.

Although, he has to admit that he is also, by far, the cutest one. Serial killer or not.

“Um,” He hears a small voice and Akaashi has to stifle a groan so he would not scare away the clearly distressed nurse. He lifts the blanket from his head and throws a _yes?_

“Do you have an extra pillow?”

He grips the pillow on his bedside before throwing it at Bokuto, who squeaks at the sudden toss, and hears a grateful _thank you so much, Akaashi, you’re the best_.

.

.

.

.

.

.

“There’s definitely a good explanation why I’m here again.”

“Please, Bokuto-san, it’s already the fifth time.”

.

.

.

“I… I may have trouble with direction and counting, _haha_.”

.

.

.

.

.

“Just get out of there. I already laid out the futon for you.”

“Thank you, Akaashi! You’re really the best.”

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> Well, congratulations for reading until the end! I wrote this after watching serial killers documentary and I did not know how I pulled this from that documentary. xD
> 
> Review?


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